


Digestivo Requiem

by MB234



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Missing Scene, Murder Husbands, Sex, Shameless Smut, season 3 episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB234/pseuds/MB234
Summary: In retrospect, it might’ve been the idea of never seeing Will again that spurned Hannibal’s actions, but in this current moment Will couldn’t think about anything other than Hannibal’s hands, so warm and firm against his chest, and his lips, hot and pliant, against his own.This is a missing scene in Season 3 Episode 7 between Will and Hannibal's conversation and Jack's arrival at Will's house that I felt just had to be written! Trying not to give to much away or spoil anything for the new fans out there!





	

“Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?”

 

Hannibal’s now familiar voice filled the silence that permeated the cold, stale air of Will’s room. Will hadn’t bothered to stir much as Hannibal had entered. He was tired beyond compare but he wasn’t sleepy per say, and he was certainly beyond being afraid. He felt hyper aware and was just exhausted enough not to have much of a filter in place. At least that’s what Will reasoned as he allowed himself just the briefest moment of internal amusement before he spoke the truth in response.

 

“The teacup’s broken.” As soon as he said it he knew it was unequivocally true; something had fractured between him and Hannibal, something vital and thrumming and fragile as French porcelain, “It’s never going to gather itself back together again.” His voice might’ve sounded harsh to anyone else’s ear but Will knew that Hannibal wouldn’t be phased or offended.

 

“Not even in your mind?” Will thought Hannibal sounded almost hopeful, as hopeful as an Angel of Death could be, but before he could dwell on that thought for much longer the Seraph was speaking again, his voice taking on that authoritative edge that Will knew so well, “Your memory palace is building. It’s full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I’ve discovered you there, victorious”

 

And what a pretty picture that painted behind Will's eyelids. It must’ve for Hannibal too, for there was a warmth in the man’s dark, dark eyes as he spoke that Will could only say he’d seen there a handful of times. It was a warmth that made something molten bloom in fervent answer deep in Will’s belly, somewhere near the exact place Hannibal had slid that wicked knife into him so long ago. Reminded of that bitter, worn memory, Will almost scoffed, feeling wearier than he could put into words.

 

“When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory.” Now it was Hannibal’s turn to almost scoff.

 

“We are a zero-sum game.” That warmth stayed in Hannibal’s eyes longer than Will had ever seen, and it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon. Damn him, but that warmth, that light suited Hannibal more than he’d ever know.

 

“I miss my dogs,” Will said in an effort to change the subject away from the luminosity banked in the furrows of the older man’s eyes, his fatigue making him overtly talkative,  “I’m not gonna miss you.” Will said before he could really stop himself. He sighed as he realized his efforts where Hannibal was concerned were truly futile. “I’m not going to find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.” That statement was really only half true; he did want to stop thinking about Hannibal, and he wasn’t going to look, or want to know or try to wonder, but damn him straight to Dante’s fiery inferno, he _was_ going to miss him. That small lie among all of those kernels of truth bit at him deeper than any blade or bullet or dentate, for that matter, ever could.

 

“You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.” Hannibal said, unable to stop his psychiatric observations despite everything.

 

“You delight, I tolerate.” Will answered, unable to stop his incessant corrections, despite everything, “I don’t have your appetite.”

 

 “Goodbye, Hannibal.” Will spoke with slightly more conviction than he felt, the syllables of Hannibal’s name not really sliding off his tongue like a goodbye despite how final he’d intended them to be.

 

Hannibal moved to go then after basking for a moment in the intoned silence that resounded after Will’s heavy, half-hearted farewell, rising slowly, measuredly from Will’s worn armchair. He’d just reached the door when he half turned as if he was going to say something more and not for the first time Will wished the enigmatic man would speak the truth of his swirling, twisted thoughts. Will wished he’d call him on his bluff, on the lies that had rolled too easily off of his fallow tongue.

 

But he didn’t. Will lay sprawled there on his bed for a few more heartbeats, reveling momentarily, and not for the last time he was sure, in the fact that his pulse still pounded on, strong and assured, after all that he’d been through. He’d better not kid himself, not now when the fragile tendons of this particularly cloudy relationship were laid more preciously, precociously bare than they’d ever been; after all that _Hannibal_ had put him through.

 

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, feeling more corporeal and grounded than he had in a very long time. His head hurt where the bone saw had sliced into it, but that pain was fading far from him. The various scrapes that littered his face and jaw ached, but at least they’d stopped bleeding. He could feel a few bruises forming in various places where’d he’s been bumped, prodded  or accosted but remarkably he felt good, if not a bit melancholy.

 

The last thing Will expected as he listened to the scrapes of his breath was to hear his front door creak softly open and those too-quiet footsteps creep determined across his groaning floor boards once more. His eyes snapped back open and he half tensed, expecting Hannibal to come back in looking for a fight.

 

But really, all Hannibal did was stride across Will’s floor, slide onto the bed, hover above him where he had sat up in surprise, and press his lips firmly against Will’s. It took him a moment to react, as shocked as he was. It made sense that Hannibal would be an omnivore so to speak, a connoisseur of all sexes and sensual experiences, but what really did surprise Will was the force of the arousal he felt now, faced with the unexpected reality of having this majestic stag of a man in his bed.

 

Will could feel the strength that thrummed beneath the fabric that tensed across Hannibal’s brawny forearms, could sense the urgency that lay banked in his sturdy chest. Will almost trembled then to feel that heady power so close to him, but thankfully the heavy weight of Hannibal’s hips pressing against his held him steady.

 

As Hannibal pulled away and Will could see the determination, the want, in his molten eyes Will realized that he had said his goodbye, and now Hannibal was saying his. Only Hannibal’s was, quite appropriately, more hands on than Will’s.

 

Not that Will was complaining, what with the way that Hannibal’s hot mouth was nipping at his collar bones and trailing hungrily up the length of his neck, sending answering tingles skittering down Will’s spine. It figured that Hannibal would be as much an expert at kissing as he was at the various other fine arts.

 

In retrospect, it might’ve been the idea of never seeing Will again that spurned Hannibal’s actions, but in this current moment Will couldn’t think about anything other than Hannibal’s hands, so warm and firm against his chest, and his lips, hot and pliant, against his own.

 

When Hannibal’s hands pull Will’s flannel open in urgent, hasty motions Will doesn’t stop him and there’s no pausing to discuss the  action. It’s better that way, with no dissection, no conversation, no debate. The path they’ve trod together has been fraught with side roads and detours caused by hesitation, and Hannibal is obviously not going to let any of those  luring paths deter him now, not with how blatantly hungry he is for Will. It really is better when their need for each other is broken down into its most base form, into simply where Will needs Hannibal’s lips _now_ , where those fingers should press _next_ , and where Will _will_ sweep his seeking tongue after he’s done mapping the expanse of skin he’s currently traversing.

 

It took Will a second to get used to touching Hannibal. It’s almost jarring to have those taught muscles, those dexterous hands, that lean frame, not leaning against a bookcase against the far wall bearing numerous volumes of antiquated, priceless texts or settled comfortably into a plush chair across from Will as he inquired about his desires, his needs, but here, pressed skin to skin, limb to limb.

 

Though once he does he can’t get enough, running his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, it’s softer than he’d imagined, and biting any corner of his soft lips that he can sink his teeth into. The clothes Hannibal has on are obviously borrowed, there isn’t a hint of silk or a scrap of cashmere that Will can feel, but somehow that makes sense too. It makes sense that they’d meet here, in this desperately carnal act not as a have and a have not, not as a man of means and a man that denies his means, but as equals.

 

Whoever these clothes had belonged to Will makes short work of them and soon his and Hannibal’s torsos are bare, their skin pressing against one another, and Will can’t help but moan, low and needy. His body, as beaten and sore as it is, responds fiercely to the slip of dusky hair against his bruised skin, to strong wiry hands pulling his hips harder against waiting thighs, and Will sighs with the strength of his reaction to this incredible enigma of a man.

  
Will can feel Hannibal smiling against his neck between kisses and Will finds himself smiling too, though he quickly forgets to keep the corners of his mouth upturned when Hannibal groans roughly in his ear in response to the buck of Will’s hips, and pushes the material of his pants roughly down his legs. The sound ripped from Hannibal is guttural and primal in a way that sends heat soaring through Will’s body, and Will eagerly pushes himself onto his stomach, glad when Hannibal spreads the lengthy weight of his body at Will’s back. It’s reassuring in an unexplainable way; comforting.

 

It seemed mutually understood by both parties that though this may be familiar territory for Hannibal, Will was slightly less acquainted with the formalities of this particular interaction. Nonetheless Will doesn’t worry; all that exists in his mind are the bright, throbbing molten heat of want, of long awaited satisfaction, and Will gladly gives himself to it, succumbing fully.

 

Will had his eyes screwed shut against the onslaught of white hot pleasure that sparked from Hannibal’s lips at his throat, his hands at his thighs, pulling them open for him. When he felt Hannibal's fingers, wet and unyielding, playing at his back entrance he gasped, not so much out of pain but out of intense pleasure. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is good at this as well.

 

When he seemed satisfied that Will was ready for him, Hannibal pulled his digits from Will’s body and positioned the hot length of his shaft where his fingers had been. There was a moment where all that rang in the air were the heavy, gasping rasps of Will’s breath and the soft pants that Hannibal exhaled, hot at Will’s neck. For just a moment the weight of the position, literally and figuratively, that they were in seemed to press down upon Hannibal, but after a few breaths he seemed to decide that this was exactly where they were supposed to be and he surged forwards, rutting into Will with a determined, but gentle force.

 

“Open yourself to me,” Hannibal whispered raggedly at Will’s ear, and Will moaned loudly in response as he assented, unable to much more than give in utterly, barely able to formulate whole sentences beneath Hannibal’s expert ministrations. It was the only thing that had been said so far and Will suspected it would be the only thing that was said. They were speaking a language now that could only be communicated through touch, through the hot press of tongue and the languid roll of hips.

 

And what a beautiful language it was.

 

Everything about this felt predetermined, right, as if they were fulfilling a destiny that had been set in motion eons ago. Hannibal’s hands were twined tightly against Will’s back, his forearms hooked beneath Will’s elbows, forcing him to crane his neck upwards in search of more of those delicious tingles that Hannibal’s mouth provided as it slid across his neck, over his shoulders. It was truly a wonderful change to feel such acute pleasure at Hannibal’s hands instead of the sharp pain he was so accustomed too.

 

Will knew that Hannibal was getting close when his thrusts increased in speed and voracity, when he starred to bite harder, more fervently at Will’s skin. Their shared pleasure was a Roman candle, burning too hotly at both ends to sustain itself for long, but how spectacularly it flared. As Hannibal unexpectedly reached around their rutting hips to grasp at Will’s rock hard shaft Will unabashedly growled, coming fiercely, suddenly undone at the combined pounding of Hannibal’s shaft deep inside of him and the added stimulation on his needy cock.

 

When Hannibal followed behind him down into the deep, writhing abyss of pleasure Will felt a strange, acute sense of pride, absurd as that was. It pricked at his chest and coiled around his middle, as warm and pressing as Hannibal’s gentle pants at Will’s back.

  
In the moments while Hannibal hastily retrieved his clothes and dressed Will wondered if he should say something, if he should speak, but his limbs were pliant and warm and his back ached dully from where it’d been bent so all he does is pull his pants back up over his hips and lay back where he’d been before, posed as if he’d barely stirred. He watched Hannibal move, his stride calmer now, as if he’d quelled an itching dilemma that had been burrowing in his mind.

 

Will was content to just soak in the sight of Hannibal before him, a pariah of male smugness and lilting determination. There was a confidence set in the slope of his shoulders that was so different from the self-serving yoke that usually sat burdened there, and Will’s lips quirk upwards in amused curiosity at that change, though there’s no real investigative intent behind his smile. He’s content now to let sleeping dogs lie, to let his Cheshire cat have some secrets. Their farewell feels whole now, completed, like a hug that had been held for just a few more seconds longer than would be expected.

 

This time, when Hannibal hesitates at the door he does turn, his eyes still lit with that becoming, radiant warmth as he rasps, “Goodbye, Will.”

 

And for just a moment, Will was content to see him go.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is readers, this is my first shot at m/m smut, please let me know how I did! Did everyone seem in character?
> 
> I love this show and its murder husbands :) This was a scene that I feel would fit perfectly into episode 7 of season 3 for many reasons, which I'd be more than happy to discuss if you so wish to! Please comment and let me know your thoughts, concerns or comments! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you so much for reading!


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